Post Trauma, 2007: Love and War

Candice blinked several times, trying to see the illuminated clock, which read 2:35 AM. A nightmare portraying her ex-boyfriend, Ken, plunging into the Puget Sound and feeling like she was plunging too had jolted her awake, gasping for air.

She slid back under the covers and concentrated on square breathing, like a Navy Seal staying calm.

Inhale for four, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four. I’m okay. Ken is okay. I hope.

She needed sleep; her alarm was due to chime at 5 AM and then she’d be on the road to Vancouver, Washington, two hours away.

Through a fluke of events, she’d found Ken’s alienated sister, Liz, a week prior and the nightmares had returned. She and Liz had talked over the phone for at least an hour, with Liz recapping their sibling estrangement since they were teenagers and Candice confiding that Ken had threatened self-harm, but she didn’t share the details.

“Ken suffered from PTSD, so following through on his threat was a possibility,” Candice had said to Liz.

“My mom told me Ken served as a medic in Iraq but said nothing about PTSD.”

“Maybe he didn’t say,” Candice had said. “He wasn’t exactly an open book.”

“Not surprising. Ken was just eleven when our dad left us, and Ken pretty much shut down after that. Hard for him to trust anyone.”

“That explains why Ken avoided intimacy,” Candice had said to Liz. “But when his guard was down . . .”

“He was charismatic, right?”

Candice had noticed Liz’s use of past tense, which was why she was replaying this conversation lying in bed and futilely trying to sleep.

By 7 AM, she was traveling from Seattle to meet up with Ken’s mom and his sister, her stomach turning like the wheels of her car. Liz had said her mom was taking them to pay Ken a visit.

“That’s all my mom said on that subject,” Liz had said.

Nine months had passed since Candice had last seen Ken’s mom during a weekend getaway on the Oregon Coast. Eight months had passed with countless phone calls ignored or never received. Eight months had passed with trying to locate Ken and wishing their breakup had been different.

After their relationship exploded, and just before Ken left their apartment for good, Candice had asked, “Where will you go? Where will you live?”

“How about the bottom of the Puget Sound?” Then he slammed the door.

She’d called his cell. No answer. She pictured Ken’s saturated phone lying next to starfish and anemones. She’d thought about calling the police. But what was the point? What would she say? She had no idea where he was heading. No idea whether he intended to follow through with his threat. For weeks . . . months, she emailed him. No reply.

She flipped her turn signal and pulled into a park ‘n’ ride, just off I-5, near Vancouver, and saw the silver Mazda sedan that Liz had described over the phone, with two women waiting inside. She parked in an open spot further down the line and walked toward the sedan.

There’s no backing out now.

A woman stepped out of the passenger side of the sedan.

“Liz?” Candice said.

“That’s me,” Liz said and held her arms out for a hug.

Candice stepped into her embrace, released, then opened the back door and climbed in saying, “I don’t think I can do this. I’m gonna throw up.”

Liz swiveled to face Candice. “That’s exactly what I said to my mom!”

“You girls.” Fiona, Ken’s mom, tsked. “You’ve needed to do this for some time. Liz, it’s been almost two decades. And Candice, you need to know so you’ll stop leaving me voicemails.” Fiona smiled kindly in the rearview mirror.

Fiona’s hands clenched the steering wheel and added, “And, you know what? I’m tired of staying silent and being caught in the middle of this mess. Liz, it’s time you faced this. Time you know . . .. Both of you.”

It was deathly quiet in the car as Fiona navigated her way back onto the freeway. Candice watched Fiona look over at her daughter and raise her eyebrows. She wasn’t sure what that facial expression meant, and she didn’t dare ask questions or say anything.

Both Candice and Liz gazed out the front and back windows as the scenery swirled past. Fiona turned on her blinker to exit the freeway only ten minutes after they departed the park ‘n’ ride.

Candice broke the silence. “The suspense is killing me, Fiona. What did you mean by ‘it’s time we faced this’?”

Fiona shook her head. “You’ll see soon enough.”

The car pulled into the turn lane of a side street and the three waited for the approaching vehicles to pass so that Fiona could turn towards their destination.

Both Candice and Liz gasped.

Candice whispered. “It’s a military cemetery.”

The sign read: Fort Vancouver Cemetery.

Fiona remained silent. Candace could hear Liz breathing, almost panting.

I’d be better off dead. I hate living like this. How about the bottom of the Puget Sound? Ken’s words and an image of his cell phone lying beneath the salt water skittered through Candice’s mind.

The car pulled into the cemetery entrance and Candice added, with mouth agape, “Look at the rows and rows of gravestones.”

“Mom!” Liz pivoted in her seat to glare at her mom. “You couldn’t have told me?” Sobs burst out like machine gun fire. “Why didn’t you tell me Ken died?”

Fiona maneuvered her car along the tree-lined lane, past the thousands of uniform gravestones, past vases filled with flowers, miniature American flags stabbed into the ground, and past a few early poinsettias next to what looked like recent gravesites.

In the distance, among the gravestone sentinels, Candice could see a man in navy coveralls riding a mower, traversing the hill like a weaver binds a rug, and another gardener collecting leaves with a blower and waving as they approached. They’re honoring the dead by keeping the grounds tidy.

She pondered how often families visited the graves of relatives. Perched near some gravestones, the small flags fluttered, and Candice wondered how many of these graves were fallen soldiers from Iraq and if one of the graves was Ken’s. She thought back to Ken’s description of the fallen soldiers’ lonely flight home and found solace in the assurance they were resting near family now.

She didn’t utter a word. In the distance, the man steered the riding mower along the identical white gravestones––like soldiers’ ghosts lined up for roll call. An awning shrouded a newly dug trench ready for the burial of someone’s brother, sister, son, or daughter. Or ex-boyfriend.

The air was thick with dread inside the car. Both Candice and Liz were wiping tears from their cheeks. Candice’s hand covered her mouth as she uttered, “No, no, no, no.”

Fiona pulled to the side of the lane and parked the car. “We’re here. Let’s go see him, girls.”

Candice burst out of the car and dry heaved next to the car with her hand propped against the cold metal door for support. Liz and Fiona opened their doors and exited, too. The sound of the riding mower grew louder.

“Mom! Just take us to his grave!”

The sudden silence drew Candice’s gaze towards the parked mower, and she watch the man’s leg swing over the seat. Liz turned towards the target of Candice’s scrutiny. They both watched the dark-haired man with hazel eyes walk towards them.

“Is . . . is that Ken, Mom?” Liz said as her hand clenched her mother’s forearm.

Fiona waved at the man. “Hello there.”

The man stopped walking and glanced from one woman to the next.

“Ken?” Candice uttered as she forced her feet to move toward the man.

Fiona bustled past the two women and embraced Ken. “Hello, son. Good to see you.”

Candice mumbled, “You––you’re not . . . working in the emergency room? You didn’t . . . kill yourself?”

Brother and sister stood at least six feet from each other staring, taking the other in. Fifteen years of absence had hardened them to the notion that they still had a sibling. Just moments prior, Liz had been sobbing because she thought her brother had died and now, years of fury smoldered.

Fiona interrupted the impasse. “Ken, are you able to take an early lunch break? I hardly think a cemetery is the best place for a reunion.” She turned towards Candice and Liz. “What do you think, girls?”

Candice mumbled, “Okay. Lunch is good.”

Once they were settled in a booth at a deli with sandwiches, Fiona began, “Can we all agree to just move forward?” Ken, Liz, and Candice nodded.

Liz added, “I’ll try.” When her mother glared at her, she revised her response. “Yes. Putting the past behind me. Consider it done.”

They situated their sandwiches and drinks to fill the awkward pause.

“Who wants to start?” Fiona asked.

Ken said, “I should go first. I’ve been the one that caused the –“

“The rifts between us?” Liz interjected.

“Now, Liz. Is that really necessary? Let him speak without interruption. Good Lord.” Fiona sighed and took a bite of her sandwich.

Candice placed her hand on Fiona’s, which was resting on the table. “You did good, Fiona. Thank you for bringing us together.”

Ken began. “Candice, back when we broke up. Or when you broke up with me, Mom told me you’d call several times and was worried that I had . . . you know . . .,” Ken lowered his voice, “committed suicide. I just let you think that I had . . .. It was cruel. I lied to my mom and told her I’d texted you to let you know I was alright. I also forbade her to return your phone calls.”

Barely audible, Candice said, “Oh.”

Fiona gazed at Candice, her eyes misting. “Sorry.”

“And, Liz,” Ken swallowed noticeably. “I wish I could go back and redo that month before I left home.”

Liz’s eyes pooled with tears. “I wish we could go back, too. I wasn’t the only one caught in the crossfire,” Liz said as her voice caught an edge. “Ali missed having an uncle.”

“How is Ali?” Ken asked, a smile hinting at the corners of his mouth.

“My daughter is fine.” Liz shoved a few potato chips into her mouth and Candice could hear the chips crunching.

“Ken,” Fiona added, “you’ll be amazed with the coincidence that Candice and Ali met this August, on the Oregon Coast. Ali and I stayed at a house next door to the house Candice was renting.”

“You know my niece?” Ken asked, facing Candice.

“You haven’t earned the right to call her your niece,” Liz snarled.

“Just stop, Liz,” Fiona insisted. “For years, you’ve gone on and on about Ali not having an uncle. Now, Ken agreed to meet with you and Candice today. Doesn’t that count for something? You need to give him a chance . . . at least for the sake of your daughter. Just moments ago, Ken acknowledged responsibility.”

“Mom! Just give me some time to get used to this. Ken’s had how much time to get used to the fact that he was going to see me?”

“Honey, he’s had just a few days. This all unfolded very suddenly. We all are getting used to this.”

Ken turned towards Candice, “So, you know Ali? Is that why you’re here, too?”

“It’s a long story, but basically, yes. I’m here mostly for Ali.” Candice was a sixth grade teacher and had compassion for Ali, who was also a sixth grader. “Tell me about your job at the cemetery,” Candice asked.

“After our breakup, I realized that working in an emergency room triggered my PTSD––almost nightly.”

I suspected as much.

“Rather than patching up the living, I decided to honor the dead. It’s brought me more peace than I thought possible. The cemetery and joining a support group in Portland.”

Liz asked, “You’ve lived near us for how long?” Her sandwich hovered in her hand a few inches from her mouth.

“I’ve lived in Vancouver since May. I took my boxes and bags of stuff and drove straight to Mom’s until I could find an apartment and get settled.”

Ken paused to take a bite of his sandwich.

“You seem at peace, Ken,” Candice observed.

Ken covered his mouth as he was chewing. “They say being outside and the color green is calming.”

“Well, you definitely have a lot of green in that cemetery,” Liz said.

Halfway through their sandwiches, everyone’s shoulders had relaxed, and bursts of laughter emanated from their table. Liz described Ali. Candice and Fiona added details, too.

“She sounds like a great kid. I’d like to meet her,” Ken said.

“She loves yard work,” Candice offered, “so you have that in common.”

They all laughed.

Candice added, “Actually, you have a lot in common. Same eyes, same hair, and same goofy expressions, which is why I thought she might be related to you. I kept probing for information and confirmed my hunch.” She set her napkin on her tray and excused herself from the table.

When she returned from the restroom, she told the three that she needed to get on the road. She got what she needed–a confirmation that Ken was alive, was reunited with his estranged sister, and had gained a niece, which was an incentive to stay alive.

They all got up from the table, put on coats, and prepared to leave.

“Thank you, Fiona,” Candice said as she hugged her for longer than she had intended. She quickly hugged Ken. “I’m happy for you.” When she hugged Liz, she said, “We’ll definitely be in touch to hang out again with Ali. Tell her I’ll write soon.”

When Candice began her drive up north, she knew she would never have a nightmare where she was drowning with Ken again.